


Keeping Customs

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 11th Century, 9th Century, Angels, Anthropomorphic Personifications, Crossover, Demons, Gen, Humour, Saints, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale keeps an eye on mission attempts in mediaeval Sweden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Customs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Puddingcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puddingcat/gifts).



"Hmmm," Aziraphale said. "Are you sure you don't want a church set up on the mainland?" He looked around the town in some dislike – northern sea breezes played havoc with his feathers and he was sure the island would be subject to nasty damp fogs that wouldn't do his books any good either. He already longed for his comfortable house and well-lit study in Rome.

Ansgar gave him an enthusiastic smile and a piece of dried fish. "Don't you see?" he said, "pagans of all the lands around the Baltic come here to trade, it'll be easy to spread the Word! Wait and see, they'll be falling over themselves, queuing up for baptism!"

"If you're sure," Aziraphale said dubiously, looking at the fish in distaste. He wasn't sure if it was meant to be symbolic or just breakfast. Either way, he didn't think much of it. Luckily Ansgar was distracted by the need to gabble at a tall, blond young man who had strolled up to peer at the church, and Aziraphale was able to toss the fish to a passing dog. The dog looked at it in surprise, sniffed cautiously, then cocked its leg and expressed Aziraphale's feelings on the matter precisely. He turned his attention back to the evangelism at hand.

" – and everlasting life!" Ansgar finished happily. "What do you think?"

"Huh," the young man said, folding his arms. "C'n't say I'm int'rested. Rath'r go a-viking if I want'd t'visit a church." At this flatly delivered pronouncement, several other people standing around suddenly looked bored and wandered away from the church's vicinity.

"Oh, well, early days yet," Ansgar said in a horribly falsely hearty voice, as if he had already given up but wasn't going to admit it to anyone, least of all himself,

Aziraphale sighed. It was a very _long_ century.

 

* * *

 

 _Hasten slowly_ , Aziraphale thought. _Tortoise vs hare and all that_. He frowned, thinking maybe he shouldn't be drawing comfort from pagan writers _just_ at the present time.

"This is all incredibly boring," Crowley muttered beside him.

"Shh! And go away! I found this place first!"

"You know why your guy's step-dad's called Sweyn Forkbeard, right?" Crowley said, loud enough for people around to hear. "I'll give you a clue, it's got nothing to do with how he keeps his _facial_ hair."

Aziraphale prayed for patience, as it was far too early in the morning to start smiting anyone. The locals around them were now giggling and making Danish jokes, which rather detracted from the solemnity of the occasion. Olof was lowered beneath the surface of the water and resurfaced, sputtering, as Sigfrid triumphantly proclaimed him a Christian.

"What _is_ it with your lot's missionaries and cold water?" Crowley said. "Don't you think it'd be a more attractive proposition if you had a nice heated bath, maybe a few scented candles – "

"Worldly vanities," Aziraphale sniffed, thinking how nice a hot bath sounded right then. Olof trudged to the shore, and Sigfrid beckoned some more shivering Swedish nobles into the river. He was a good man, Aziraphale supposed. Even fonder of scant rations of dried fish and drier bread than Ansgar had been, but he got things done. "Now this is a Christian nation," he said, smiling gently at Crowley's expression. Someone behind them coughed in a _not so fast, there_ manner. Aziraphale turned to see a tall, blond young man holding a sheaf of notes.

"Got a few d'mands from th'temple at Uppsala," the young man said. "Peacef'l coexist'nce b'tween th'people's religion 'nd this new sort. Or else."

"Stuff and nonsense," Aziraphale said, wishing Crowley wasn't there to snigger. "Your king's just been baptised, and people do what kings tell them to."

"Not here," the young man said, handing over what Aziraphale could see were depressingly detailed demands heavy on both the minutiae of religious freedom and the _or else_.

"Good _heavens_ ," Aziraphale said. "The last time I saw paperwork this detailed it was drawn up by –" he paused, and gave Crowley a dirty look.

"Hey! I just came for the crayfish festival!" Crowley said. "This has nothing to do with me!"

"Really?" Aziraphale said, putting the sarcasm of several millennia and hundreds of languages into it. "Then why is this fellow the same young man whom I remember from Birka a century ago? Stop smuggling demons up here without the proper visas!"

"'Im n't a demon," the young man said. "Just here repr'sentin' the people." He glared at them both. "So, peacef'l coexist'nce, or do I carve th'blood eagle on y'r backs?"

"You have no idea how much I miss the Mediterranean," Aziraphale muttered, leaning on Crowley's shoulder to sign the papers.

 

* * *

 

"What do you _mean_ , Sweden has renounced Christianity?" Aziraphale said.

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Crowley said. "No need to sulk. I didn't even have anything to do with it, I only found out because I was on a skiing trip in Norway – have you ever tried, by the way? I predict it'll catch on like wildfire. Snowy wildfire."

"Oh, do stop wittering on! Honestly, I take my eyes off a country for two seconds –"

"Approximately seventy-five years," Crowley said helpfully. "And you _did_ move back to Italy, so you haven't exactly been paying attention –"

"The climate is better for my knees," Aziraphale said huffily.

"I thought it was because you said mead tastes like cat pee and if you had to endure one more Viking drinking song you were going to call down fire from heaven and annihilate everything north of the Alps?"

"I never said any such thing," Aziraphale sniffed and was gone almost before he had to hear Crowley drawl, "Oh, _right._ "

He strode into Uppsala and watched the locals busily sacrificing to the Norse gods. If he were honest with himself – which he tried to be at least once in every millennium – Aziraphale found most human attempts at religion to be cringe-makingly embarrassing, but he'd given his support to all those dried fish-eating saints and really, it was the _principle_ of the thing. As well as which, Crowley was probably finishing off his wine back in Italy. "This simply won't do," he said.

"S'what th'people want," the all-too-familiar tall young man said beside him. "Not a bad thing, t'keep y'r own customs."

Aziraphale counted to ten. Then he counted to one hundred. He had to set a good example, he thought, and shrieking in frustration wouldn't help anyone. "You again," he snapped. "Are you sure you're not a demon? How about the personification of my rapidly growing stress headache?"

"Str'ss headache?" the young man said, raising an eyebrow. "D'n't be stup'd. I'm th'person'fication of _Sw'd'n_."

"That," Aziraphale said, closing his eyes, "is ridiculous."

"N't as ridic'lous as a pudgy storm-swept gull."

Aziraphale opened his eyes again in outrage and hurriedly made his wings invisible. "I am not a seagull!"

"If y'say so."

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and pictured calming images of the sunlight glinting off blue water, of countries warm enough to support viticulture and clothing that didn't involve scratchy woollen trousers. "You know what?" he said, "you go right ahead with your little spot of backsliding, I'm sure it's just a phase."

"Y'don't want t'fight? Want t'go to th'mead hall?"

Aziraphale shuddered. "No, thank you. Go on, I'll come back when you've got all this out of your system." He smiled encouragingly as the young man gave him a terse nod and went into the temple.

 _Where to now?_ Aziraphale thought. Not back to Italy, Crowley'd be waiting there to poke fun. _Ah._ He had the perfect place – it had been far too long since he'd visited Byzantium. _Sunshine_ , he thought longingly. _Excellent sports facilities. Palatable food._ And best of all – he smiled as he bid Uppsala farewell and a moment later was strolling along in hot sunlight and planning a nice seafood supper – he was sure of seeing no bloody Vikings at all.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  The [Christianization of Sweden](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christianization_of_Scandinavia#Sweden) started (with little success) in the trading centre of Birka. Almost two hundred years later Olof Skötkonung became the first Christian Swedish king. In the last quarter of the 11th century, King Inge the Elder was exiled for refusing to carry out traditional sacrifices at Uppsala, and was replaced by his brother-in-law, Blot-Sweyn. Inge eventually regained the throne in an act of Christian compassion and charity in which he burnt his brother-in-law's house around him (and either left him to burn to death or had him killed as he fled the burning house).
> 
> Aziraphale is, of course, [very much mistaken about a Viking-free Byzantium](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varangian_guard#Varangian_Guard).


End file.
